


Coming Home to Roost

by Zoop (zoop526)



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Horror, Confined/Caged, F/M, Flogging, Rape, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 03:58:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/682505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zoop526/pseuds/Zoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A garrison in Rohan with a brutal approach to interrogation takes an unusual prisoner. The healer begins to question the actions of her people, and makes a fateful choice. Set before the War of the Ring.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strange Creature

"You'd better be against the wall, cause I'm in no mood for foolishness," the woman called through the thick oak door. The guard frowned.

"It's chained to the wall, Lily," he said in confusion. "Can't go nowhere else."

Rolling her eyes at the guard's utter lack of humor, she pushed the door open. The old hinges creaked appropriately, like any good dungeon door would. It gave the place just the right atmosphere, when coupled with the moans of the sufferers and the drip, drip, drip of moisture on the dank stone floors. The guard followed her into the cell.

After a round with the 'interrogator,' the prisoners' cells always had a stink to them, mostly of loosed bowels and emptied stomachs. This one wasn't too bad; evidently a newcomer, early in the questioning process. He had nowhere to go but down from here.

They hadn't told her what she'd find, only that he needed cleaning up, that he had wounds that needed tending. It always floored her that they would bother healing a prisoner they had no intention of keeping alive for very long, but she guessed they wanted to prolong their sport. She was by no means hardened to the prisoners' pain; on the contrary, it was all she could do to keep from setting them all free at times. They weren't criminals, and they weren't orcs; they were men taken in battle. Overcrowding tended to happen these days, as Dunland got out of hand with its raiding. Skirmishes along the southern borders usually resulted in a fresh supply of fleshy grist for the mill. So the effort to 'take things easy' was lessened by degrees. Her sympathies tended to rise in proportion to their cruelty.

"Light a torch, will you? There's a dear," she said absently to the guard. Flickering golden light suddenly flared in the small room, forcing a hiss from the prisoner, and a little shriek from Lily.

The bucket in her grasp clattered to the floor as she stared at the thing in horror. It was sort of an orc, only much taller, broader in the shoulders, and leaner in the hips. Not an ounce of waste on this one; it was all muscle. Filthy hair hung over its face in strings, but failed completely in hiding its bestial features, from low forehead shadowing yellow glittering eyes, to flattened nose with flaring nostrils, to curled sneering lips exposing jagged, sharp, yellow teeth.

"What...the _hell_...is that?" she managed to say as she clutched her heart.

"Don't rightly know, miss," the guard said mildly, holding the torch a little higher. The beastly creature turned its head away, unaccustomed to the light. But its eyes were still slitted open, watching her.

"I am not touching _that_ ," she said slowly and succinctly, pointing at it. Even chained to the wall, it radiated menace that was nearly palpable.

"Not sure you got much choice, miss," the guard replied. "Captain says this one's gotta be kept alive, leastways till the Lord of the Mark shows up. So you gotta see to that." He gestured at the long, deep sword cut across the beast's ribcage.

Blinking, she looked where he indicated. She hadn't seen the wound; had this been a man, the sight of so much blood would have alerted her immediately. But this one...the blood wasn't the red she was used to. Against its dark skin, the black blood covering its side had gone nearly unnoticed. So this _was_ an orc, after all, though a breed she'd never seen before.

As her senses began to return, she became aware of the low growl that came from it, almost as constant as its breathing. Perhaps it _was_ just breathing. Its arms were up, spread out to the sides, and chained in thick manacles that were unlikely to let it move more than an inch or so from the wall. Its ankles were likewise secured. A short cloth kilt spared her from seeing more of the orc-like beast than she had to.

Swallowing hard, she turned to the guard and said with as much dignity as she could muster, "Exactly how much of it am I supposed to clean up for his lordship's inspection?"

"Couldn't say," the guard said with a shrug. "I wouldn't do more than throw a bucket of water over it, myself. They say it killed three men before they could take it down. Roared like a beast, I heard. It don't seem to me like something that cares much for washing."

"Look, I don't presume to tell you your business," Lily said doubtfully, "but what kind of information is the captain expecting to get from it? Does it even speak?"

Again, the guard shrugged. "I reckon if it can, Pappy'll loosen its tongue up nice in a day or two. If it knows what's good for it, that is."

Lily shuddered and closed her eyes, trying not to imagine what Pappy, their chief interrogator, would do to make it talk.

"Well, best get on with it, Lily," the guard said. "The thing ain't gonna tend itself, not trussed up like that." He snorted with amusement at his own joke.

"Here, then," she said, picking up the bucket and slapping it into the guard's stomach. "Fill it up again. Had I been given fair warning, it wouldn't be necessary, now would it?" Chagrined, the guard departed for the well.

Taking a deep breath, Lily turned toward the strange orc, forcing herself to look at its face. "You're an ugly son of a bitch, aren't you?" she muttered. Its lip curled again, and she could swear it snarled at her. "Give it a rest, orc, if that's what you are. We both have our jobs to do; you get tortured, I bind your wounds, you get tortured some more, I tend you again, and it goes on and on until you sing like a little bird. You'd better start practicing your scales, because Pappy's been at this for decades. You don't stand a chance."

"I do not feel pain," the orc suddenly said, its voice growling like a slavering beast. Lily was so taken aback she nearly fell over.

"You...speak?" she breathed, her own voice seemingly afraid to come out of her mouth.

"No," it snapped, baring its teeth in what might be a grin, but was far toothier than any she would place such a benign name to.

"Well, I hope for your sake you're right," she said shakily. "Although if you are, that doesn't necessarily mean it'll go easier for you." Again, she shuddered involuntarily.

Once the guard returned with the full bucket, she wet her cloth and willed herself to approach the orc. Close up, it radiated an unnatural heat that made her uncomfortable in the close cell. Keeping the cloth firmly in her grip, she wiped the sticky, drying blood from its side. Once or twice, her fingers brushed its skin, though it felt more like tough pig hide than the softer skin of a man.

The cut across the ribs required over a hundred stitches for her to close, and all the while the orc just stood there, unflinching, as the needle dove in and out of its flesh. Oddly enough, it was when her fingertips lightly brushed its skin that a twitch would occur, rather like a horse flank when a fly lands on it. She wondered if the orc was ticklish. Nearly laughing out loud at the absurdity of the thought, she wrapped its midsection to keep the wound clean and stepped back to admire her handiwork.

"Your mum would be proud," the guard commented. "Of the work you done, not what you done it on," he clarified.

"Hmph. You have that right." Wiping her hands clean of the foul-smelling blood, she looked up at its face again. Shaking her head, she said, "Ugly as homemade sin, my grandmother used to say. Never knew what she meant by it till now."

With that, she turned and left the cell, the guard sparing the orc a single backward glance before closing the door behind himself and the torch. The orc was plunged once more into near total darkness. Only a tiny square of light coming through a high barred opening in the door illuminated its surroundings.


	2. The Name of the Beast

Lily did not see the orc again for a week. Among her duties was feeding the prisoners, but she was told to leave the orc be on that score until instructed otherwise. When the captain finally gave her the order, she was no more eager to tend the loathsome beast than she would be to pull out her own fingernails. But she obeyed.

The orc was beginning to show signs of Pappy's efforts. Even the dark ruddy brown skin showed bruises if beaten hard enough. Its face was swollen, its lips torn from being smashed into its own teeth, some of which were clearly missing now. Burn marks appeared on its chest, arms, and legs, vying with what appeared to be tribal tattoos for prominence.

Steeling herself, Lily silently applied salves to the burns, wiped the blood from its face, repaired the injury she'd sewn earlier. Some of the stitches had been ripped out, and the bandages were filthy. In spite of the creature's boast, it seemed very tired and barely acknowledged her ministrations. When she held a bowl of stew up near its face, it stirred and its eyes flickered open.

"They want you strong again," she said quietly. "Eat." She scooped a spoonful out and aimed for the beast's mouth. Reluctantly, it accepted the proffered food. "That's it. You must be starving. They haven't let anyone near you for days. Well, not me, at any rate. I hear Pappy's been particularly friendly with you."

At the mention of Pappy, the orc growled. Its eyes flashed in the wavering torchlight.

"Maybe you should step away, miss," the guard advised nervously. "It took a chunk out of someone's arm the other day when he got too close."

"Oh, it won't bite me," she said more confidently than she felt. "Not even an animal will bite the hand that feeds it. This one certainly won't; it should know that I do the cooking around here, and if it wants decent meals, it should be very polite indeed."

"You know your business, I suppose," the guard said doubtfully.

"What sort of things are they getting out of it?" she asked as she fed the orc. Its unwavering eyes never seemed to leave her face, or even to blink very much. It was terribly unnerving.

"Don't know," the guard said with a disappointed sigh. "I just get the shit work, begging your pardon miss, of hauling it out there and hauling it back. There's rumors it won't say nothing, and rumors it won't stop begging for an end. Don't know which to believe, but my moneys on the saying nothing. That don't look to me like a beast you can get a word out of if it don't want to."

"I think I agree with you," Lily said. "How long would you say a Dunlending's held out with Pappy when he hits his stride?"

"A Dunlending?" the guard said thoughtfully. "That all depends, miss. You get a green soldier fresh out of his village, never seen battle before, and you can't shut him up after a day. You know what they're like; every day, standing in a puddle of piss and sick, bawling like a baby what's got its hand shut in a door. Get an older one, battle-hardened and war-weary, now, and they'll keep you guessing for almost as long as that thing's been holding on. Never seen one last a week, but some came close."

"Do you know what they're asking it?" she said.

"Ah, just what you'd expect, miss. Mostly want to know what it is, if there are more of'em. I heard more about it from the lads what brought it in. It was ordering a bunch of goblins and smaller orcs around, like it was in command or somesuch. Did they ever jump! I think I might too, if I thought my officer would eat me alive for being too slow."

As if in answer to the guard's chuckling remark, the orc licked its thin lips with relish, and grinned at her. She arched an eyebrow at it, but otherwise paid it no mind.

"So they don't know who orders _it_ around?"

"Nope, it don't say nothing about that. You know Pappy, miss; he's got a hold of that one like a dog with a bone. He ain't letting it go. He'll find out where the thing came from in good time."

But the orc didn't seem willing to provide any information, if the rising intensity of Pappy's treatments was any judge. Lily tended the orc every couple of days, and each time she saw it, it sagged a little more in its bonds. Rumors were flying around the stockade that Pappy was furious with how things were going, and had vowed that he would break the orc if it took him the rest of the year. As the torture continued, the orc became less and less of a threat, until it was deemed no longer necessary for the guard to accompany her into the cell. On that day, the orc was hanging freely from the manacles; one of its legs was broken and the other too weak to hold it up.

Lily just stared at the orc for several moments, uncomprehending. Its growling breath came out raggedly, its own body weight contracting its ribs as it hung. She'd never seen anything like this treatment from one of her own kind.

"You should tell them what they want to know," she said quietly. The beast slowly raised its head; its yellow eyes were dulled by pain, but still showed defiance.

"I do not feel pain," it repeated, its voice hoarse.

"Liar," she retorted. "You reek of it. It's written on your face, on every part of your body. You're just too stupid to see it yourself."

"Leave me," the orc growled.

She closed her eyes briefly, then approached it. Methodically, she went about her tasks of cleaning off blood and binding injuries. The break was a challenge, but she managed to straighten its leg and splint it. The orc never made a sound.

"Do you feel up to eating?" she asked. The orc shook its head. "Water, then?" That seemed more agreeable to it, so she tipped a skin of water into its mouth. The orc drank greedily.

"What are you called?" Lily asked quietly. "Your...people."

Its eyes bored into hers. "We are Uruk-hai. I am Uruk. Not orc."

Frowning at the unfamiliar word, she said, "Do you have a name?"

"Yes."

She waited several heartbeats, but the Uruk stubbornly withheld any further information. Exasperated, she snapped, "Well? What is your name?"

"Why do you want to know?" it snarled in return. "I have not told your 'Pappy' anything; why should I tell you?"

"Because I'm not asking you about numbers or locations or command structures," she said with annoyance. "Let the men beat that sort of thing out of you, if that is their wish. I only want to know your damn name."

"Why?" the orc repeated.

"The more you deny me, the more I want it," she retorted. A slow grin spread across the Uruk's face. Realizing too late what she'd said, Lily blushed hotly. "Keep your secrets, then. A lot of good they do you."

Another week passed in silence before Lily felt compelled to engage the Uruk in conversation again. He had been in the stockade for a month, and if the rumors were true, Pappy was no closer to breaking the Uruk than he had been on the first day. If anything, the continued abuse only seemed to strengthen the beast's stubborn resolve even as it tore his body apart.

There came a day when Lily entered the cell and the Uruk was not chained to the wall as he had been before. While he did wear chains on his wrists and ankles, he was lying on a pallet now, too broken of body to stand any longer. He had been sick on the floor, and his body still convulsed slightly from the violent spasms. Sweat stood out on his skin and he shivered.

Kneeling beside him, Lily gently sponged his pain-ravaged face with a cool, damp cloth. "You are very stubborn, Uruk. It'll get you killed one day."

Without opening his eyes, the Uruk replied huskily, "Doesn't matter. Already dead."

"Not from where I'm sitting," she said. "You're a mess, but you're still alive."

"No. Dead. I talk, dead. I don't, dead. No difference. Won't betray my master."

"Where is your master now?" she asked gently. "Does he hear you when you call for him? Does he care that you were taken? What sort of master is he, that he would let _this_ be done to his slave?"

The heavy brow furrowed, and his yellow eyes opened, glaring up at her. "Not slave. Uruk-hai. Need no master."

"So...if you don't need your master, why do you protect him? What does he do for you that you would endure such torment? I daresay he won't ever know what you've gone through for him." Without waiting for an answer, she pressed on, "You know, they say there are only two beings in Middle Earth who can make even the strongest creature beg for death in the end. The Dark Lord is one, and Pappy is the other. Pappy won't let you slip into oblivion, any more than the Dark Lord would. Give him something, anything, even if it's a lie," she begged.

He closed his eyes again. "Morglok."

"What?"

"My name. Morglok."

"Oh. Well, Morglok, I am Lily."

"I know," he whispered as sleep stole over him.

Awkward and confused, Lily left the cell, locking the door behind her. Somewhere along the line, she had stopped thinking of the Uruk as _it_ , even before she had a name to call him. His worsening condition, a hallmark of Pappy's rage and frustration, disturbed her more than she cared to admit. What would Pappy do next, she wondered. How would he make Morglok suffer for his impudence, his unwillingness to cave under the pressure? What sort of monster was Pappy to even try?

Out in the stockade, the late afternoon sun was settling toward the west. Men were about their duties, relieving watches, going to supper, laughing about one thing and another. It was a stark contrast to the dismal hell she had just left. Then she saw Pappy emerge from his lair, wiping his hands on a cloth and looking grim. Without knowing what compelled her, Lily walked boldly up to him and squared off, fists on her hips.

"I don't know what goes on behind that door," she hissed, and the middle-aged man looked up, startled. "But I have to clean up your messes, which makes it my business. What is so damned important in that orc's head that you won't let it just stay there?"

Pappy's brow furrowed in an annoyed frown. "Lily, I don't tell you your business, so don't tell me mine." Shouldering past her, he would have gotten away if she hadn't reasserted herself before him again. Sighing, he said, "Leave off, girl. I've had a hard day. That orc of yours is a stubborn bastard."

"He's none of mine," she flared defensively. "I have never seen you take such...pains...with a prisoner, that's all. I want to know what makes him such a treasure," she said sarcastically.

"He's a commander of some sort," the interrogator offered. "That means he knows things. We want to know what he knows. And we want to know what the hell he is, as well. That much you probably know from your guard friend, who's never been shy about listening in on things that are not his concern."

"But Pappy," she said, ignoring the implied accusation, "surely you must realize that you descend to their level when you..." His stony look shut her mouth.

"Lily, go back to your ministrations, tend the sick and hurt, and do not meddle in affairs that are _none of your fucking business_." With that, he stalked off.


	3. Payment Due

The following day, Lily was horrified to see the Uruk beaten on the parade ground with all the camp watching. Morglok was dragged from his cell in the crisp morning light, and tied to a post. Pappy applied the whip himself, sending it singing through the air to lay open the Uruk's broad back. Morglok's eyes were squeezed shut through the flogging, his jaw set firmly against any pained groan or cry that might have sought release. He couldn't even stand on his own.

But Lily was more appalled by the look on Pappy's face, seemingly more bestial than the Uruk's. It was clear to her that he took grim pleasure in abusing the Uruk, perhaps too much pleasure. Even after Morglok passed out, his body going completely limp, Pappy continued. A quiet word from the captain, repeated more urgently when it was ignored the first time, finally stilled the whip. Silence descended on the camp; all were staring at the broken body of the Uruk, dark skin blackened by its blood, flies beginning to gather at the promise of a meal.

She looked at their faces, these people she had lived with in the stockade's settlement for so many years. Some were openly pleased. A few appeared disappointed that the Uruk still lived. Slowly, the crowd dispersed, going back to their chores, their lives, their comforts. Guards came and dragged the Uruk back to his cell. Lily did not want to speak with Pappy now, nor the captain, and went straight back to her own little cottage. There were things she needed to do.

Well past midnight, Lily crept to the prison and let herself in. Among her many privileges was a set of keys for opening all the cells, for she often needed to visit at odd hours. The guards were not very attentive within the prison; only a handful of prisoners were there, and none were of much interest apart from the Uruk, and even _he_ was no longer a threat. Lily easily slipped from shadow to shadow, avoiding their meandering, disinterested patrols, and let herself into the Uruk's cell.

It was pitch dark in there, but that couldn't be helped. A torch would only arouse suspicion. She could hear his breathing, slow and steady, as he slept. Following the sound, she reached out and felt for him.

"Morglok," she whispered tentatively. I must be mad, she thought, sneaking up on a sleeping orc in the dark. When her fingers brushed his skin, she was relieved; still warm, though his breathing should have told her his condition. Still, it was reassuring.

"Morglok," she repeated, nudging what she hoped was his shoulder.

"What do you want?" he growled suddenly, not troubling to keep his voice down.

"Sshh!" she hissed.

"Why are you here?" he asked a bit more quietly.

"Ask no questions," she snapped. "Can you stand?"

There was silence for several moments, broken only by the rattling of chains as he shifted his body. "Yes," he replied simply.

Groping in the darkness, she found the manacles and with shaking fingers, unlocked them. Her hands brushed his skin many times, but she willed herself to continue, swallowing the revulsion that instinctively rose.

Freed from his bonds, he allowed her to assist him to his feet. She bade him lean on her, and led him out into the flickering torchlight of the corridor. His footsteps were sluggish, his limbs unused to movement, his body so wasted it was a wonder he could walk at all.

"Guards?" the Uruk questioned when they made it to the end of the hall without meeting anyone.

"They think you are broken," she whispered with some effort. He was very heavy, and his bad leg forced him to use her body nearly in the office of a crutch. "There are no others in this wing. The guards are few. We will meet none until we are nearly out. Then...payment is expected." She grimaced at the hateful thought.

"What payment?" Morglok asked suspiciously.

"Never you mind," she said. "It is for me to pay, not you."

He seemed satisfied and fell silent until they reached the guard post at the exit. The guard on duty rose when they entered, and Morglok growled low in his throat. Lily set him to lean against the doorframe and approached the leering guard.

"Going through with it, are ye?" he asked. "What sick ideas you got in mind, woman?"

"Enough," Lily said. "Answers were not part of the bargain."

"Fair enough," the man said, then took hold of her and pulled her close. She stood stiff-armed and rigid as he kissed her roughly, his mouth reeking of ale and onions. "Come along, Lily," he breathed. "You're like a dead thing. Loosen up."

"That was also not part of the bargain," she snarled through clenched teeth.

"Saving yourself, eh?" he grunted, then pulled his hand back and let it fly, striking her so hard she spun and fell against the rough table. Looking up, she saw the Uruk in the doorway, his head cocked to the side, confusion on his bestial face. She looked away, fixing her eyes on the wall, knuckles whitening from her tight grip on the table as the guard forced himself upon her.

 _I will not scream_ , she told herself. _It will be over soon, please let it be over soon._

When he was finished, she composed herself with as much dignity as she could muster and went to fetch the bewildered Uruk. As they passed the guard, now lounging satisfied in his chair, feet on the table, he sneered at the towering prisoner.

"There's some mighty fine cunt there, orc. Have a nice night."

The cool night air caressed her face like a lover's kiss. Her objective was behind the slaughterhouse, ironically enough. There, covered by an ages-old overgrowth of vines, was a door. Few but the commanders and some of the common folk knew of its existence. Its purpose was as an escape in times of siege, though no such threat had appeared for many generations.

Lily wrestled with the rusted lock, growing more desperate as time dragged on. She wanted so badly to get away from this place, where friends had become monsters overnight, and humiliations were required as bribes. She fought to suppress the scream of shame and fury the guard had planted in the pit of her stomach.

Rattling the key in the lock with growing hysteria, she nearly shrieked when the dark, clawed hand of the Uruk closed over hers and pulled her away. With little effort, he turned the resistant key in the lock and handed it back to her. Putting her shoulder against the door, she pushed it open squealing on its hinges. Together, they left the compound. Lily closed and locked the door behind them.

The air seemed much cleaner and more inviting outside. They made their slow progress to a line of trees in the distance. Lily had her mare tied up there. If they made it that far, perhaps they stood a chance.

There was no moon that night, so the guards never saw them leave. It wasn't until they were safely in the woods a mile away, and Lily was sorting through the bundles on her mare's back, that Morglok finally spoke.

"Why?" he asked.

Glancing up at him, she considered her words carefully. "I don't know what you are," she said hesitantly. "I know what you said, but that tells me nothing." She handed him a long, thick cloak from one of the bags. He wrapped it around his shoulders, yellow eyes never leaving hers. "I thought I knew my people well. I believed them when they told me that sometimes a rough hand is needed to coax valuable information from a prisoner." Looking away with sudden embarrassment, she said quietly, "Lies. It was all lies. The longer you have resisted, the more they are revealed to me. I no longer believe they want information from you. I don't think they care. They just...hate you. Hate what you are. What you represent, perhaps. Their hatred has turned them into...your kind."

He grunted, then shook his head. "Not my kind. We do not do what your Pappy has done."

Shuddering, she said, "Then I am sorry. You must hate us."

"Don't hate you," he growled. "They will pay; not you."

"Morglok," she said, forcing herself to look him in the eyes. "There are women, children in there. You can't..."

"Don't care about women and children. Only Pappy. And the guard." His lip curled with a snarl that rumbled deeply in his chest. "I saw. Did not know men hit their females."

"Is that all you saw?" she snapped. "Did you think that was the only unwanted thing he did?"

The Uruk started slightly at the venom in her voice, the blaze in her eyes. Water seemed to be glistening in them, though it did not fall.

"You did not want the mating?" he asked, uncertain.

"Whuh...mate... _Of course_ I didn't want it!" she exploded. "Have you any idea what mating _is_? Mating, indeed! I let him have his way so I could get you out! He thinks I brought you to my cabin because the cell floor is too filthy! He thinks I ride you like an untamed stallion at this moment! Mating! Aggh!"

Morglok realized that at some point of her tirade, he had sat on a fallen tree trunk. "That is why he let us go?" he asked incredulously.

"Men don't think clearly when they're offered a willing female," she retorted. Hugging herself and shuddering, she snarled, "Anyone else would have known it was the feeblest of deceptions. I can only hope that, when your absence is noted, he receives vigorous punishment."

Something seemed to dawn on the Uruk, and he nodded sagely. "Females do not like mating."

Shaking her head with exasperation, she said, "Don't be stupid, of course we do. There has to be _some_ compensation for the pain of childbirth, you know."

His head tilted to the side. "But you said you did not want mating..."

"Not with _him_!" she cried. "And certainly not with someone like _you_ watching." She squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered anew. "Sweet Valar, whoever trained you left a gaping hole in your education."

"I do not understand females," he snarled angrily.

"Nor will you, if you keep on the way you're going," she retorted. A bit of her pent up rage had been released, and she felt a little better. "Can you ride?"

He shrugged. "Never tried. Too big for wargs."

"Get up; I'll help you mount." With that, she roughly pulled on his arm. He resisted, glaring at her. His lip curled in a snarl. Remembering herself, and what he was, she let go. "Forgive me," she said, bowing her head. Slowly, she looked up, and met his glare. "I've had my hands all over you for a month," she muttered awkwardly. "I should not take such liberties."

"Touch me all you like," he growled. "I will not be ordered around."

Nodding, she extended her hand to him. He took it; her pale hand nearly disappeared in his great black one. With difficulty, she helped him into the saddle, then mounted in front of him. She shuddered when his arms encircled her waist.

"I smell him on you," the Uruk said in her ear. She recoiled from him.

"At my first opportunity, I plan to wash his filth off me," she snapped, then kicked the mare's flanks sharply. The sudden standing bolt into a trot nearly unseated the Uruk; his arms tightened reflexively around her. Smug, she urged the horse into a canter, and they rode into the night.


	4. The Cold Light of Morning

Resting the horse and themselves only briefly, they pressed on through the next day, until night once again fell upon the plains of Rohan. Lily had no clear idea where to go; having Morglok with her removed any chance of seeking her own people, and after what she had witnessed in the stockade, she wasn't inclined to look for them. Their camp that night was near a stream, which she used to vigorously scrub the memory of the guard from her flesh. The Uruk built a campfire with wood she gathered.

While he ate some dried meat she had packed, Lily at last tended the lash wounds on his back. They were thickly crusted with dried blood and puss. She was obliged to use a strong astringent to scrub the cuts clean.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly when he flinched from the stinging treatment. "I'm sorry for what was done to you, and I'm sorry for what I do now, but I must."

"Why are you sorry? You did not hurt me."

"No, but my people did," she said. "I am...ashamed of them. Of myself."

"Why?" He turned to look at her, studying her face. She could not bear his scrutiny, and lowered her eyes. "We are at war," he said, as if that explained it all.

"Rohan is at war with Dunland, not...wherever it is you come from," she said, frowning.

"Hmph," he grunted. "Men always war with orcs. No different with Uruk-hai."

"Well, war or no war, I simply do not approve of what was done to you," she said a little haughtily, and went back to her work. There seemed to be old scars beneath the fresh wounds, as if he was no stranger to the lash. She decided she didn't wish to inquire about them.

Morglok shrugged and turned away, allowing her to continue. "You do not 'approve,'" he repeated. "I do not think Pappy asked your opinion."

"I gave it to him, whether he wanted it or no," she said. "Told me to mind my own... business. Then he...," she said, and stopped. Her hands fell limply into her lap and she stared at the Uruk's back. He glanced over his shoulder at her, brow furrowed.

"What?"

"He whipped you," she said hollowly. "Morglok, I am so sorry. If anything I said made him do this..."

The Uruk waved his hand dismissively. "It was coming to me, that day or the next. Promises he made had to be kept."

"Did he think...threatening you would make you talk?"

Morglok chuckled humorlessly. "He did not threaten. And I did not talk."

"You are stronger than any man I have ever known," Lily said softly. The Uruk slowly looked back at her, his expression difficult to read. He reached up and took her hand that was resting on his shoulder. Pulling it forward gently, he turned it over, and grazed the skin of her wrist with his teeth.

A shiver went through her. Biting her lip, she let him pull her closer. Now his mouth was moving up to the inside of her elbow. She briefly contemplated putting an end to this, for she suspected things would reach an inevitable conclusion if she did not. In the end, though, she didn't care.

Pivoting on his haunches, he turned toward her and touched her face curiously. She was no stranger to matters of intimacy; that filthy guard was certainly not her first encounter. It was common in the garrison; the men were so far from loved ones or even brothels, and there were several widows and unmarried women in residence attending to the needs of the soldiers. Some needs were more pleasant than others, and being a healer, she had opportunity to attend to all. Every now and then, a young man would meet her exacting standards, and his suit would be accepted.

The forbidden had always enticed her, though, and there could be nothing more unthinkable than union with an orc. Cupping his brutal face in her hands, she boldly kissed his mouth.

A low growl rumbled in his chest, but he made no move to discourage her. Rather, he moved to his hands and knees and advanced. Lily still held him in thrall with her kiss, and allowed him to push her backwards until she lay beneath him. Morglok's hands shook as he pulled her skirts up. She readily parted her thighs, a thrill running through her at her own audacity.

Kneeling between her legs, Morglok gripped the front of her dress and tore it open, then left her mouth to descend upon her breasts. With a cry, the woman arched her back, pressing against him. She grabbed one of his hands and put it to her breast, urging him to knead the flesh. He obliged her, even as his mouth sought to taste every inch of her sweet flesh that was revealed beneath him. With lips and tongue, he explored the unfamiliar landscape of her body, shredding the annoying clothing when it barred his way.

Her scent intoxicated him, driving his urgency higher. When he found her core, he thrust his tongue into her soft, yielding folds. A startled cry erupted from her, and he knew he pleased her. Her hips thrust against his mouth, and she buried her fingers in his hair. But it was not enough.

With haste borne of his need, he straightened, and plunged his engorged member inside her. This, too, pleased her, for she clutched his backside and dug her nails into his flesh. She matched his rhythm, regardless that he faltered often, staggered by the bliss of their coupling. As his climax neared, he grunted with each thrust, harder and faster each time. And she matched him still.

To his surprise, Lily suddenly cried out, her body bucking beneath him. He would have been alarmed had her passage not gripped him tightly, rippling along his member, forcing all coherent thought from his mind. An answering roar erupted from him as his seed burst forth inside her. He collapsed atop her, weakened by his spent passion.

They lay gasping for several minutes, not moving. Lily held him close, looking up at the trees past his shoulder, not wanting to acknowledge just now what he was. Yet for a few moments, the wild thought that the reason for prohibiting union with orcs must be that it felt so damned _good_ flitted through her mind. She almost laughed, imagining legions of men standing awkward and embarrassed alongside orcs, proudly sporting their better endowments, while women considered which one to dally with of an evening.

In her musings, she found her hands gently caressing Morglok's back. Her fingers reminded her of his wounds as they explored, and she sobered. Reason began to return, to him as well it seemed, and they separated. Lily felt suddenly uncomfortable as she peeled the tattered remains of her dress away and dug in her pack for a replacement. She couldn't look the orc in the eyes as she dressed, yet she felt them upon her.

"I pleased you," he suddenly growled.

"Yes," she replied, uncertain. Stealing a glance at his face, she was startled by his expression. If anything, he seemed more beastly now than he had before. His mouth was curved in a leer, eyes wide and intensely focused on her. It was not the look of a lover. She instinctively recoiled.

Breathing in deeply, his grin broadened. "Now you fear me." And he advanced.

Her earlier whimsy dissolved with a shriek as he grabbed her, turned her, and forced her onto her hands and knees. There was nothing of gentle awkwardness in his manner now, only pain and humiliation as he took her roughly. The more she cried in protest, the more aggressive he became, until she was sobbing and choking on bile, emptying her stomach with shuddering heaves, and he was clawing up her backside, bellowing like a beast, and ramming so hard she was certain to bleed.

It didn't seem to end. With each completion, he seemed to discover a new way to violate her body until she went numb and willed herself to fade into oblivion. But oblivion remained tantalizingly out of reach. Only when he had used her enough that he was too exhausted to continue, did the nightmare pause. Even then, he held her against his sweaty body and did not release her as he fell into a deep sleep.

She wanted to weep. She wanted to crawl away and die. How could she have desired him for even a moment?

There was no comfort in sleep for her either. With each twitch of his body, every shift for comfort, she tensed. The Uruk's member stiffened and softened against her throughout the remainder of the night, and her fear of his waking increased with each dream-induced erection.

The first birds of morning jolted her from a doze, and she tensed once more. The Uruk was drifting awake as well. She felt his chest expand on a yawn. Without a word, he hoisted her leg up and hooked her knee over his arm, then thrust into her from behind.

At least it was quick. He spent himself in a matter of moments, and finally released her as he rose to fetch dried meat from her pack. Lily found she couldn't move, didn't want to move. Movement, she reasoned, would call attention to her presence.

Morglok squatted down in front of her. She dared not look up at his eyes, though having his inadequately concealed privates so close to her face was no better.

"You are not pleased," he observed.

Slowly, Lily looked up. The Uruk seemed almost...disappointed. Gone, however, was any desire to provoke him with sarcasm or admonishments now. She remained silent, not even nodding in agreement with his ludicrous statement.

"Would it please you if I was gentle again?"

She cringed from him, wincing, but could not bring herself to provide an answer. Would he not just go away? Leave her to her shame?

"You liked my tongue inside you," he commented, then tossed away the strip of meat he'd been chewing on. With surprisingly placid yet firm hands, he turned her onto her back and parted her legs. Whimpering and biting her lip, she endured this latest humiliation as he used his mouth to debauch her once again.

It was no longer pleasant as it was before. Her body was too abused, too sore. And it was _him_ doing it. All the fight had gone out of her, and she lay there like a dead thing, wishing she was, hoping he would lose interest if she did not respond.

Eventually, he stopped and glared at her. Grimacing, he thrust into her once more, his expression angry as he hovered over her.

"Like it again," he demanded, taking her with short, rough strokes. She only shifted her gaze to the trees overhead, ignoring him as best she could.

Withdrawing, Morglok sat on his haunches, his unwavering gaze upon her. Lily kept her eyes focused skyward, and did not move. The silence stretched for several minutes before he broke it.

"I go now. You taught me many things. I will not forget them." Rising to his feet, he looked down at her for a moment, then trotted off into the trees.

Lily didn't dare move for an hour or more, expecting the Uruk to return and resume his vile attentions. But he was gone. Slowly, it registered that the nightmare had ended. She took a deep breath, and a sob tore from her throat. Covering her face with her hands, she finally wept.


	5. One Nightmare Ends, Another Begins

In the depths of a tower, nestled in the green sward of a valley, surrounded by an ancient wood, a wizard sat, fingers steepled as he regarded the Uruk before him.

"You are late," he commented in sepulchral tones.

"Apologies, Master," the Uruk replied flatly, bowing slightly. "There was..."

"From the beginning," he snapped. His voice echoed against the bleak stone walls of his audience chamber, making the sensitive ears of the creature before him twitch with agitation.

"Yes, Master. I led the company back to the garrison. We took it easily." He sneered, remembering the concealed rear exit, how it afforded his scout easy access to the interior and the mechanism that lifted the front gate. How it later provided excellent sport as the women and children sought escape...

"Any survivors?"

"One." Morglok shifted slightly, not quite sure how this news would be received.

"Go on."

"The one called Pappy."

The wizard's eyebrows rose slightly. "Indeed? And did you repay him for his... tutelage?"

"No, Master. None harmed him. I showed him what he taught me. I made him watch."

His statement was met with a silence that lasted uncomfortably long. Morglok forced himself to stand still and unmoving, waiting for his Master's judgment.

"And the women?" the wizard inquired. "The children?"

"We mated with the women."

The wizard's eyes narrowed. "This man's teachings were... thorough."

Morglok shook his head. "I did not learn it from him, Master."

A tiny smile quirked the wizard's mouth. "Continue."

"Some survived and we brought them back. You said you wanted breeding stock..."

"Yes, yes," his Master said, waving his hand with irritation. "The children. What did you do with them?"

"We slew them, Master. Except the females. We brought the females back as well."

"Did you consume any of the flesh?"

"We did. What we could not eat, we brought back with us."

"Did you find it to your liking?" The Uruk's toothy smile provided his answer. "And all this you did before the eyes of this... Pappy?"

"Yes, Master."

"Yet you are late. Explain."

Again, the Uruk shifted uncomfortably. "I ordered the man set free. He ran for the nearest village in his madness. We followed, and did the same thing there."

"Did you then slay... Pappy?"

"No, Master," Morglok growled. "The pathetic _tark_ slew himself."

"I wonder if he felt pride in how well you learned...how well you passed on his teachings," the wizard mused thoughtfully. Turning his cold gaze to the Uruk once more, he said, "And your... other instructor?"

Morglok stiffened. He supposed he'd expected this. There was no hiding anything from _Sharkû._

"I tracked her by scent."

The wizard tsked softly, but smiled. "I suspected as much. You were extraordinarily late. It is no matter. You endured much, and remained faithful. I can be generous." Waving negligently, he said, "Keep her. Share her, if you wish. Or not. You have earned the right to be selfish."

"Thank you, Master."

The wizard leaned back on his throne, contemplating the turn of events, the delicious ironies. What had begun a grievous breech of secrecy turned out a blessing, sparing him the toil of attending to their... education... himself. Would the Rohirrim realize the beasts he would eventually unleash among them were wrought by their own hands?

"You have done well, Morglok."


End file.
